The Genesis Plague (2010)

Crawford’s ostensibly prophetic insight into the mind of Islamic terrorists made him an indispensable asset in Iraq. But everything Levin had witnessed thus far today was completely out of synch with the colonel he’d thought he knew. Crawford’s behaviour seemed borderline schizophrenic. Even now he seemed in denial as he persisted in interrogating a man who was barely coherent.
    Levin passed his clinical eyes over Al-Zahrani again. Ethical concerns aside, he would prefer nothing more than to disregard Hippocrates’ primary directive, ‘above all, do no harm’, and personally see to it that this most undesirable patient slowly choke to death on his own sputum.
    Above all, however, Levin wanted to avoid at all costs Al-Zahrani unleashing a viral Trojan Horse on the platoon. The battlefield was a cesspool of bacteria. Even with decades of technological advances in trauma care, modern warfare was still plagued by more casualties associated with biological infection than friendly fire and hostile gunfire combined. Though troops lived in close quarters to promote comradeship, that thoughtful arrangement also provided a perfect breeding ground for communicable diseases. Particularly since the troops didn’t enjoy the luxury of daily showers or clean toilets.
    With a steady flow of US troops moving back and forth between the Middle East and domestic military bases, the Department of Defense had gotten very aggressive in containing even the smallest of outbreaks. Prophylactic treatments for contagions ranging from flu to anthrax were mandatory for all troops deploying to the Middle East - six inoculations over an eighteen-month period, followed by annual booster shots. Yet these measures were far from perfect, especially when it came to the highly virulent influenza microbe, which played an endless game of ‘gene swap’ with animals and humans. The recent swine flu pandemic was a potent reminder of how easily influenza could mutate and render vaccines obsolete.
    Another glance at the test strip. Two more minutes to go.
    Levin tried to block out the distressing thoughts of Al-Zahrani infecting the troops with some mutated flu strain. Worse yet, the terrorist might already have infected a number of Iraqis during his clandestine movement from city to city.
    In Iraq, sparse terrain provided hardy, natural buffers that counteracted disease transmission. But one infected individual could easily ignite a lethal epidemic within one of the region’s densely populated cities. A person infected in that city then travels to a virgin population in another city … and from there, the dominos would keep falling. It was a sobering reminder that most wars in history - from the Mongolian invasion of the Roman Empire, to Hernando de Soto’s conquest of the Americas, to Napoleon’s attempt at world domination - had been determined not by military might and superior weapons … but by germs.
    Crawford was quick to label Levin a worry-wart. That was to be expected. Military types focused primarily on munitions and artillery, and needed constant reminding that the most potent threats of modern warfare were not armed militants with an eye on martyrdom. Crawford, in particular, was a diehard battlefield minimalist who believed that a marine could survive with only a Bowie knife. It took a lot of convincing that sensible preventive measures were not intended to soften Crawford’s killing machine.
    Even Crawford had learned the hard way that infectious disease should not be ignored. During a reconnaissance mission the previous summer, Crawford’s platoon had been patrolling Iraq’s southern desert, toting sixty to a hundred pounds of gear in scorching temperatures that reached 130deg Fahrenheit. Short on water rations, thanks to chronic logistical problems with contractors deploying Water Buffalo supply trucks, the troops had been forced to drink from untreated local water supplies that were teeming with harmful microorganisms. That led to widespread bouts of dysentery that practically debilitated the entire platoon. Naturally, Crawford wasn’t affected since he’d had plenty of bottled water for himself.
    ‘Stop worrying,’ Levin told himself. He wiped his clammy hands on his pants.
    Suddenly Crawford’s growing frustration with the patient’s hopeless condition hit its crescendo. The colonel yelled bloody murder for a full minute, then kicked over a crate and stormed out from the tent.
    ‘Lunatic,’ Levin mumbled. ‘That